


How to Take Care of a Werewolf

by Fire_Bear



Series: USUK Dimension Transcension Week 2016 [7]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Day7Free, First Meetings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Scotland, Sewing Someone Up, Travel, USUK Dimension Transcension Week 2016, Werewolves, middle of nowhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-06-06 19:16:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6766483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Bear/pseuds/Fire_Bear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur's uncle left him a house in the Highlands of Scotland and he decides to see if his uncle left anything with emotional value in the place. His first, relaxing night there is ruined when the locals hunt a 'fox'...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How to Take Care of a Werewolf

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to write a thick Scottish accent but I’ve probably failed. I just wanted to differentiate from what I sound like and what someone from the very north of Scotland sounds like.
> 
> All the places mentioned by name are real but the house itself isn’t. (I did a lot of research, y'see.)

Despite his constant debates with his uncle, Arthur had loved the man. So, when he died suddenly, without warning, and left Arthur behind his 'holiday home' – a house in the north of Scotland that he rented out for most of the summer – Arthur couldn't bring himself to sell it on. For one, he knew some of his uncle's things were still in the house and he wanted to sort through them. Besides, having a secondary home in the country could be interesting, as well as profitable if he kept renting it out to holidaymakers.

So he booked a two week holiday before the start of summer and took the train all the way up to Thurso. He enjoyed the calming ride, for once able to see more than just buildings and bare sports' fields. He saw the English moors and the rolling fields, the forests and glens of the Highlands and the hills towering above them. At one stage of the journey, he travelled along the coast and watched the sea swishing in and out, in and out, before the train turned a corner and the sight was lost.

After the train came the bus to Tongue. The bus was packed since it was, apparently, one of few modes of public transport to the crofting village so Arthur felt as if he was in a tin of sardines. Along the way, thankfully, people who were returning home got off at places like Bettyhill and Coldbackie. It was another beautiful journey, the sea reflecting the sun as the day wore on and he couldn't complain too much. Finally, they reached the village where Arthur was to be picked up by the man who kept the house in shape.

Mr. Mackay was a tall man, muscly and stern. His hair was greying and he had some stubble making him look like the stereotypical farmer. Arthur thought he looked tired as he bundled Arthur's suitcase into the boot. “Are you keeping well?” he asked the man, politely.

In return, he got a grunt. For a moment, he thought the man was rude but, once they were both seated in the car, he finally replied. “'M'alright,” he said. “Been up late, though.” His accent was as thick as Arthur had been expecting and it took him a few moments to parse what he had said.

“Oh? What's kept you up?”

“Nothin' in particular,” Mackay answered, the burr of his r's putting Arthur in mind of his Scottish-obsessed uncle. “Just... foxes gettin' in at th'chickens,” he added shortly.

“Huh.” Arthur immediately thought of Fantastic Mr. Fox and had to turn his head from Mr. Mackay and press a hand to his mouth to keep from laughing. They stayed silent for the rest of the ride, crossing over the Kyle of Tongue and continuing west to Loch Hope. After they had crossed the river the loch drained into, Mackay turned the car onto a track which branched from the road they had been on. For a few minutes, they bounced around until they eventually reached a large house, big enough for a family of four or five to stay in.

It looked better than Arthur had been expecting: Mackay obviously kept up with any repairs required. White walls held up a grey, slate roof and the windows were all double-glazed. Cables ran into it to provide it with electricity and an unstable phone line (when Arthur had called up the first time, the sound had kept dropping out). There was no front garden, just the track and grass but, further through the small forest, Arthur could see the shore of the loch.

Inside, the décor left much to be desired, the walls all covered in fading, floral wall paper. The pipes were solid, though, and he had running water as well as a boiler attached to the back of the house for hot water and heating. Board games and videos had been left behind for entertainment as well the keys to a shed wherein the oars to the boat on the loch and an old fishing rod resided. A bundle of maps and sight-seeing leaflets had been placed on the table in the hall, as well as numbers for the 'local' restaurants in case he had no desire to cook. In the kitchen, he found plenty of cans of food and, thankfully, Mr. Mackay had thought to buy milk, bread, bacon, eggs and butter for Arthur to use.

“Ah can gie ye a lift t'the shop t'morra so ye can get more, if ye'd like?” Mackay suggested.

“Ah, thanks,” Arthur replied. “Sorry. I wish I had a car so I didn't have to inconvenience you at all.”

“Not a problem. Just...” Mackay paused and glanced out of the kitchen window. “We're thinkin'a scarin' the fox off tonight so if we keep ye awake, sorry in advance.”

“Oh, no. Your livelihood comes before me,” said Arthur, politely, though he inwardly cursed his luck for coming up at the wrong time.

“Ah'll leave ye to it,” said Mackay and went back to the car. Arthur stood at the front door to wave before going back inside to settle in.

* * *

Later that night, Arthur was seated in front of the fire he had lit, engrossed in one of the books he had found, when he realised that he could hear noises. They were faint at first but, after some time, Arthur realised that they were shouts and the crashing of foliage. So the 'hunt' _had_ come his way, Arthur thought, rolling his eyes. It was lucky he hadn't been asleep for he would have been quite irritated. He returned to his book and managed two more sentences before he heard the gunshot.

Startled, Arthur dropped the book and stood. That had been close. There were more shouts and what sounded like a faint cry of pain. Had someone been shot? Were they using real guns at this time of night? What were they, idiots?! Or... had that been a cover story for a murder?

Rushing to the front door, Arthur hurriedly unlocked it – just as something banged into it on the other side. He jumped and let out a cry of his own, wondering if the person had managed to stagger to his door for help. Fumbling with the door handle, it took him two tries to pull open the door, the light pouring out onto the scene beyond.

At his feet, lay a man. Not just any man; no, this man had animal ears on his head and a tail sticking out from his jeans. The man was panting, obviously struggling to stay awake as he turned his head. Light glinted off glasses, obscuring his eyes but Arthur could see his blond hair and the way one strand stuck straight up as if mimicking those ears. Stunned, Arthur found himself reaching out to touch the ear, lightly stroking it. When it twitched under his ministrations, he jerked back at the same instant the man sighed happily. Meanwhile, the tail wagged a little, hitting off the door-frame. Arthur stared for a few more moments until he noted that the white vest top was turning red – this man must have been the one to be shot.

Quickly, Arthur glanced outside, straining to see if anyone was around. There were still yells from the trees and rustling everywhere but no-one was visible. Figuring no-one could see him, Arthur bent down and dragged the man inside, out of harm's way. Then he hurried to the kitchen, grabbed the leftover cleaning supplies and quickly scrubbed the blood from his doorstep. Afterwards, he shut the door as quietly as he could, put the chain on the door and locked it. Sighing with relief, he turned to the man to see that he seemed to have passed out. He was much too large for Arthur to carry up the stairs by himself and he doubted he would be able to drag him to the couch without injuring the bloke more. So he moved over and smacked lightly at the man's cheek.

“Hey. Hey! Wake up.” With a groan, the man came to, blinking blearily up at Arthur. His eyes were a very bright shade of blue. “Help me get you upstairs and to a bed.” He pulled on the man's arm to get him halfway to his feet and the stranger did the rest, pushing himself upright. With the man leaning heavily on Arthur, they both managed to get up the stairs and to a guest bedroom which had an unmade bed. There, Arthur dropped the man onto his back.

“I'll be back in a minute with a first-aid kit,” Arthur told him and hurried to the kitchen, ignoring the pool of blood now in the hallway. He was lucky the floor was stone – he didn't fancy explaining a bloodstain on a carpet to the man trying to kill the guy upstairs. Grabbing the kit from the cupboard his uncle had kept it in, he rushed upstairs. At the side of the bed, he laid out the supplies he thought he would need: needle and thread to sew up the wound for the time being, alcohol for cleansing the wound, painkillers for the man and bandages to wrap him up with.

“Take off your top,” he ordered the man who was barely conscious.

The man giggled. “I only jus' met ya...” he said, slurring a little. Arthur was surprised to hear an American accent.

“Come on. I need to treat your wound.”

“Ya jus' wanna see my muscles,” the man teased. Nevertheless, he obeyed, carefully peeling the shirt from where it was stuck to his wound. Arthur could immediately see that he wasn't lying about the muscles – he hadn't seen abs like that in... well, ever. With a great effort of will, he turned his attention to the bottle of alcohol.

“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath as he unscrewed the cap. “This is going to sting.” He looked at the wound, noting that it seemed much like a hole that went straight through the man's side. Arthur bit his lip. Clearly, the man needed surgery. However, he wasn't sure he'd be able to get in contact with a hospital up here. So he gritted his teeth and added, “This is going to sting a lot.” Placing a hand on the man's chest to keep him down – the man giggled – Arthur braced himself and poured the alcohol on the wound.

Instead of screaming as Arthur would have expected, the man howled. Quite literally howled. Rather loudly. Then he cut himself off, gritted his teeth and turned less hazy eyes on Arthur. “Who... Who are you?” he asked, sounding wary.

Pausing to listen in case someone had heard, Arthur was relieved that the shouting had died down – he could hardly hear anything now, all the noise now in the distance. “I'm the man who saved your life,” he answered. “I'm just going to sew you up. Tomorrow, we'll get you to a hospital.” He nodded at the man's head. “Do you want to take those toys off? It's probably what got you shot. They must have thought you were a fox.”

As Arthur sterilised the needle with the alcohol, the room fell into silence. Then the man said, “My ears and tail... Can you see them?”

“Yes,” Arthur replied, distractedly as he soaked the thread he would be using.

“I must have dropped the glamour when I got shot,” the man murmured to himself. Arthur glanced at him with a frown and the man laughed before wincing at the pain. “They know _exactly_ what I am,” he told Arthur. “That's why they used silver bullets.”

It was Arthur's turn to laugh. “ _Silver_ bullets? Don't be daft. Why would they waste silver on...?” He trailed off as the man merely watched him, an amused smile on his face. Arthur lowered the needle and thread, staring back in shock. “Are you trying to tell me...? Are you _sure_ those aren't those Japanese ear things? With the batteries?”

The ears in question flicked at the mention and the man shook his head, his shoulders trembling with suppressed laughter. “Nope. One hundred per cent werewolf. Or fifty per cent human, fifty per cent wolf.”

“Wai- I... But you look human and you've got-!” Arthur gestured at the very obvious ears and tail.

“Oh, yeah, well, werewolves can't turn other people into werewolves. They just die. But they _can_ be born,” the man – _werewolf_ – explained. “We're born like this so we get taught from a young age how to spin a glamour and hide our ears and tail. We're totally harmless, 'cept for the full moon. That makes us go crazy and full-on wolf.”

“But... So why were they...?”

“Ah, I'm, y'know, back-packing across Britain and Europe for a year and I ended up here a few days ago. It was the full moon and someone saw me. Thankfully” - here the man breathed a huge sigh of relief - “no-one was hurt. But they've been trying to 'deal with me' ever since.”

Arthur stared at him for a moment longer. “This is ridiculous,” he sighed and plunged onwards with his operation. The werewolf hissed as the needle pierced his skin, tensing at the pain. But, miraculously, he stayed still, allowing Arthur to work.

“I can't go to a hospital,” the werewolf said. “I heal faster than humans and I'll probably be fine by tomorrow.”

“Stop talking,” Arthur mumbled, reaching for the alcohol to sterilise both the wound and the needle again. “I'm not exactly a doctor, you know.”

After hissing and cursing at the pain, the werewolf let out a breath. “So how do you know what to do?”

“I read,” Arthur answered shortly.

The werewolf huffed a laugh and then stilled, letting Arthur work. It took a few minutes but the front was finally done. He had to help the werewolf roll over onto his stomach in order to sew up the back wound. By the time he was finished, he had to carefully roll the werewolf over by himself as he had passed out again. Since it would be too awkward to sit the guy up, Arthur had to settle with taping square bandages to him. Then he cleaned up as best he could (including cleaning the excess blood off the man) and packed the kit away. Once he had everything sorted out, he paused, thought for a moment, sighed and took a dining chair to the room. Then he settled in it, intent on watching over the werewolf to make sure there weren't any complications.

* * *

Morning found Arthur hunched over, his head on the bed and his bum still on the chair. Groaning in pain, he slowly pushed himself up, eyes still closed and stretched, popping his back rather deliciously before letting himself slump and take in his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was that the werewolf had vanished. The thread he had used and the bandages were lying in his place along with a patch of blood on the mattress and the soiled vest top. On the white side of one of the bandages had been scrawled a message.

_Don't wanna take up your time._  
_Thanks for everything._  
_See you around, maybe? ;)_  
_Alfred_

Just as Arthur finished reading it, he realised he could smell bacon which was probably what had awoken him. His heart stilled: if Alfred had left, who the hell was in the kitchen? Had the idiot werewolf left the door open for just anyone to come in? Panicked, he leapt to his feet and leapt down the stairs. At the door of the kitchen, he paused, staring.

Alfred stood at the cooker, decidedly topless (Arthur could see his back muscles rippling as he moved), spatula in one hand and the other holding the pan. His ears and tail were still clearly visible, the tail wagging happily. He turned when Arthur slowly entered, confused beyond a doubt. “Er,” he said, looking sheepish. “So, I was kinda hungry and I found some bacon. But I made enough for you, too!”

“Right.” Arthur truly didn't know what to do, especially when he glanced down and saw that Alfred had, indeed, healed completely. “I thought you were leaving...?”

“Well. I was gonna,” Alfred admitted, scooping up some perfectly crisp bacon and lowering them carefully onto two plates. “But then I remembered your eyes and your determination and stuff from last night and I decided to stay.”

“Why?” asked Arthur, utterly perplexed.

Grabbing a plate, Alfred grinned at Arthur, tail wagging. He sauntered over to the smaller man and, before Arthur could move or react in any way, he ducked down and gave Arthur a kiss at the corner of his mouth. Heart stopping, breath catching, Arthur spun around to watch Alfred continue on to the living room, tail wagging even more furiously.

“I need a mate, that's why!” Alfred called over his shoulder.

Stunned, Arthur stood there for a while before practically stumbling over to pick up the second plate of bacon. Then he jolted, what Alfred had said sinking in. Gasping, he hurried through the house, calling out to Alfred.

“'Mate', as in 'friend', right?!”


	2. How Not to Fend Off a Werewolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m literally making stuff up as I go along and I’ve accidentally made it into a rom-com… Whoops.

Alfred ignored Arthur's question, opting to scoff his breakfast instead. 'Eat first, ask questions later', was what he mumbled around a mouthful of bacon. He'd also avoided it after he'd finished by immediately declaring that he would wash the dishes and rushing off only to return in search of Arthur's plate. Before Arthur had registered that he was back and he could hold the plate hostage, the werewolf had snatched it and run off. So Arthur waited until the werewolf returned, his tail wagging behind him as if he was happy he had completed his task.

Arthur stared at him, arms folded, as he walked in; Alfred's tail wagged faster as he spotted Arthur's irritated expression as if he thought that would make Arthur happy. “Sit down,” Arthur ordered. Like the well-trained werewolf he was, Alfred sat on the couch. “Explain.”

“Explain what?” asked Alfred, trying to look innocent. He even tilted his head and Arthur had to remember that he was human at the moment despite his ears and tail.

“This whole... 'mate'... thing.”

“Oh.” Alfred grinned wider and Arthur suddenly felt like prey in the face of it. “Well, that's why I'm over here instead of back home. See, werewolves originally came from Europe so the pure-breeds are all here. It's not quite the same as dogs and stuff – they don't all look the same. But they've got the better genes. It's better for our offspring, 'specially since I'm a half-breed. I'm supposed to be bringing back a girlfriend. Or one of those fancy male omega things – all the werewolves in America are betas, see, so none of us can really produce werewolves. We're either products of a human and a werewolf getting it on or a pure-breed and a half-breed.”

“You said you were 'one-hundred percent' werewolf last night,” Arthur pointed out, eyes narrowing.

“Yeah, we don't go 'round telling people we're only half a werewolf,” replied Alfred with a laugh. “We don't normally tell people we exist at all. Most people try to kill us.”

“What do you do to the people who find out, then?”

He soon regretted saying anything: the next thing Arthur knew, Alfred had closed the distance and was in his face. Arthur shrank back into his armchair, alarmed at the dangerous look on Alfred's face. His teeth seemed sharper this close and Arthur struggled to keep calm.

“We get rid of them, of course,” Alfred said.

At that point, Arthur was no longer consciously breathing. He was also sure his heart had stopped. Maybe he was dead already – he would never see Alfred coming.

Slowly, Alfred pulled away, straightening and stretching. Arthur pulled in a shaky breath, still staring at Alfred with wide eyes. He put a hand over his heart, checking to see if it was still beating. It was, thankfully, and he returned his attention to Alfred as he gasped and panted. The werewolf gave Arthur a slightly apologetic look as he sat down again.

“'Course, no-one's found out about us for centuries so we don't really do that now. Not sure what I'm actually supposed to do. 'Specially since I totally don't wanna kill anyone.”

“Really...?” whispered Arthur, reaching up with a shaking hand to wipe away the sweat on his forehead. “Or are you just lying to make me feel better?”

Alfred shrugged a shoulder, one of his ears flicking back for a second. “I can only speak for American werewolves. Don't know what the European ones do since I've not seen any. Kinda hard with all the magical protections we put on ourselves.”

“Let me see if I've got this straight,” said Arthur, feeling a little calmer. “You want a pure-breed werewolf to... let's say _marry_... and take back to America with you. Is this for your parents or yourself?”

“It's sorta like a ritual. You become an adult in the werewolf community once you've bred or been bred.”

“Lovely.”

“Haha, we _are_ half animal, y'know.”

“Yes. So I see. Anyway, we've established you want someone to take home with you, right?” asked Arthur. Alfred nodded enthusiastically and Arthur spotted his tail wagging from its place curled around Alfred's waist. “Then... If that's the case... Why are you saying you want me as a mate? I am definitely _not_ a werewolf. And I certainly can't get pregnant.”

“Ah...” Alfred chuckled, mirthlessly, rubbing at the back of his head. “Well, as much as I've loved the holiday, I don't really wanna take someone home. Besides, I don't _need_ to. But Dad's a bit... picky with everyone I usually date. He'll be super disappointed if I don't take someone home with me...”

“Oh, God,” said Arthur, eyes widening as realisation dawned. “You want me to pretend to be a werewolf.”

“Only for a little while! Just till I make it look like, I dunno, you couldn't get pregnant or something and then we could, like, 'break up'” - Alfred made the quotation signs with his fingers – “and then, y'know!”

“There's no way in hell,” Arthur growled, fists clenched on the arms of his chair. He wasn't going to be stuck in some sort of idiotic rom-com plot with a werewolf. Especially since the werewolf in question seemed a bit of an arrogant idiot. What if his parents found out? What if Arthur's family found out before he was able to 'break-up' with Alfred? It didn't bear thinking about.

“ _Please_ ,” Alfred whined, sliding from the sofa to kneel in front of Arthur. With his ears pulled back and his tail drooping, he looked so much like a begging dog that Arthur froze, caught between wanting to give in to put a smile back on his face and telling him to stuff it. “I'll be real good,” Alfred added, shuffling forward until he was between Arthur's legs. Startled, Arthur twitched, unsure how to get away without kicking Alfred. The werewolf caught his knees, holding him still as he sidled in, rubbing his cheek against Arthur's thigh, hooded eyes staring up at him. Arthur was sure Alfred's eyes had turned darker and his breath caught as he tried to tell him to... what did he want Alfred to do?

A knocking on the front door startled Arthur so much that he kneed Alfred in the side of the head. With a yelp, Alfred sprawled to the side as Arthur struggled to get to his feet, willing away a certain problem downstairs. He was relieved to get away from Alfred, that sly little- Well, he would call him a fox but he was hardly one of them, was he? The bloody werewolf had probably used that tactic to get his way more than once, he had no doubt. Arthur could just imagine how talented Alfred was when he was on his knees...

He had reached for the handle of the front door when he realised that Alfred was not supposed to be there. Freezing, he glanced over his shoulder and, seeing a distinct absence of dogs or wolves of any kind, he decided to just open the door and see who it was. He'd just speak to them at the door before he sent whoever it was on their way, no need to worry.

Of course, it happened to be Mackay who nodded to Arthur as soon as they saw each other before he tried to peer past him. Arthur shifted his weight so the interior was blocked. “How can I help you?” Arthur asked, trying to remember why he would be there. Had he seen the blood from the night before? Had he not cleaned the doorstep thoroughly enough?

“Ye wanted t'go shoppin' fer food?” Mackay said, giving up on seeing past him.

“Oh!” cried Arthur. “Yes. I do apologise. I've been... in my own little world. Quite forgot. I'll just grab the keys and we can get on our way. Oh. And my wallet.”

Dutifully, Arthur scurried off, rushing past the living room. As he did so, he spotted Alfred, standing bold as brass just inside the door. His lips were pulled back in a silent snarl, eyes narrowed. Obviously, he recognised Mackay's voice. Or maybe it was his scent. Whatever it was, Arthur tried to send him a warning look, hopefully containing what he wanted to tell Alfred: _Stay hidden. Stay inside. Let me go with him and come back without arousing suspicion._

After he had collected his wallet from the room and returned to the hall, he didn't see Alfred when he glanced into the room again – he hoped the werewolf had understood his message.

* * *

Thankfully, Arthur was able to buy enough food for two to last a week without arousing suspicion: he was grateful most of what he liked to eat came in large portions. Mackay made no comment and helped him get it all in the car. They rode in silence, neither mentioning the night before. Arthur tried not to squirm.

Back at the house, Arthur picked up as many bags as he could but there were still two that were left. Without warning, Mackay appeared at his side and lifted them. Thanking him, Arthur made his way to the door – and remembered Alfred. Faltering a little, Arthur almost stumbled but managed to catch himself and continue on. How was he supposed to get this in with Mackay in tow if Alfred was wandering around the house?

“You can just put it down here,” he said when he reached the door and put his own bags down to unlock it.

“It's no trouble at aw t'take it in fer ye,” Mackay said, stubbornly holding onto it.

Arthur kicked open the door and was relieved not to find a welcoming werewolf with his wagging tail and excitement. He grabbed his bags and stepped inside, calling over his shoulder as he went, hoping that Alfred would hear and keep away. “You really don't have to. I'm sure you've got lots of work to be doing and I don't want to be a bother.”

The kitchen was empty of another's presence and he put down the bags with a sigh of relief. Only Mackay's movements sounded throughout the house and Arthur wondered if he needed to put on an act at all. He had refused Alfred's advances; perhaps the werewolf had decided to go find someone else to drag back to the States with him.

“It's the least Ah can do,” Mackay replied, coming through the doorway. His eyes were darting around as if looking for something. When he didn't find it, he put the bags next to the ones Arthur had already set down. Then he looked up and straight into Arthur's eyes. They were grey and stern and Arthur froze, feeling just as trapped as when Alfred had knelt at his feet. “Ah'm sure we kept ye up last night with aw we'r noise...”

Obviously, Mackay was fishing for something. He couldn't know Alfred was there, Arthur realised, and if he just played it cool, he could make sure Mackay wouldn't come looking for Alfred at the house again. “Oh, you don't need to look so serious. I was still awake. Now I think about it, I heard gunshots – I take it you got rid of it?”

“Weel, it ran off. Might be smart enough not ta come back.”

“We can but hope,” Arthur agreed.

There was a short pause as they both awkwardly stared at each other. Arthur had the feeling Mackay was sizing him up. Meanwhile, Arthur was battling the urge to invite him for tea with the strong impulse to prompt him back to his farming duties to get rid of him. Finally, Mackay nodded to Arthur and turned. “Weel,” he said, “Ah'll leave ye be.”

Nodding, Arthur followed him to the door. “Thanks again, Mister Mackay,” Arthur said. “Shall I call you when I need to go shopping again?”

“Aye. Ah'll bring ye milk in a couple days.”

“Right. Thank you.”

And the door closed on the farmer. Arthur stayed, leaning against the door, listening to Mackay's footsteps receding. A car door opened and closed. An engine started up. The crunching of stones under the tyres as the car drove away. Arthur sighed in relief and slumped, letting his head bump gently against the door.

“Finally!” exclaimed a voice behind him, making him jump and bang his head. Spinning around, Arthur found Alfred staring past him at the door. His ears were twitching, both turned in the direction Mackay had gone. Behind him, Arthur could see his tail sticking straight up. “I thought he'd never leave!”

“Tsk. I thought you'd gone,” Arthur grumbled, pushing past the werewolf to actually put the food away.

“Nah. Figured I should stay outta his way. I think he had a silver knife on him.”

“Eh?!” cried Arthur as he began to unpack the first bag. “Where on Earth would a farmer be getting all this silver?”

“Probably a hunter gave him it. Huh.” Arthur glanced up at that to find Alfred frowning into the middle-distance. “Maybe those weren't a coincidence.”

Arthur froze. “Are you trying to say that you've had close calls on your trip already?”

“Ever since Russia,” Alfred agreed with a sheepish grin.

Silence fell as Arthur stared at Alfred in disbelief. “How are you still alive?”

“See? I can't be trusted on my own. Come home with me!” Alfred grinned at Arthur, tail wagging.

“Wha-? I thought we'd already finished this conversation,” Arthur retorted, scowling at Alfred. “There's no way I'm going to America. I have my own life here-”

“I don't expect you to _live_ with me, just visit. And then, I dunno, chat with me online every so often so it looks like we're doing a long-distance thing.”

“What about this whole mating-marriage thing? We need to do that first, right? And I don't want to. No doubt _something_ will go wrong.”

“Please,” Alfred begged, this time taking the milk and butter from Arthur's hand and putting it in the fridge as if he thought helping would endear him to Arthur. “I swear, I'll do everything I can to make this right afterwards, 'kay? Please, just... Please?”

Arthur shook his head and dodged Alfred so he could put away the tins of soup he'd bought in case he got too lazy to cook a proper meal. “No. Leave me be.” He opened one of the cupboards and quickly shoved them in, noting that Alfred had gone quiet, hoping his firm tone had brought an end to the discussion. However, when he turned to go fetch the rest of the tins, he found his way blocked by a serious-looking Alfred. The werewolf quickly boxed him in, arms either side of Arthur's hips, palms flat on the counter. Arthur froze, staring up at him in shock. What on Earth was he doing?

“I know I'm asking a lot. But I swear, nothing bad will happen to you. I'll even make a blood pact – werewolves can't break those oaths. And-And if that doesn't convince you, I'll pay you!”

At those words, Arthur immediately thought of his boring office job. It was a data entry job and it was mind-numbingly boring. Besides which, he had wanted, for so long, to work in a publishing house. He doubted he ever would, seeing as there wasn't much demand for jobs. As such, he had settled for the job which barely paid his way. If he could get paid for something so simple as pretending to be someone's boyfriend...

“How much...?” he asked.

“Uh, I think I have two or three million dollars in my trust fund at the moment. I'll give it all to you when this is over.”

Gripping the counter behind him(careful not to brush Alfred's hands), Arthur took a deep, steadying breath. What could he do with $3 million? How much was that in pounds?

Was money what he really wanted?

He quashed that little voice in his head and stared at the floor for a moment, arguing with himself a little longer. Then, finally, he sighed and looked up at Alfred again. “Fine. Let's do this. But there's going to be a few rules...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I was going to have Alfred trying to endear himself to Arthur till the latter did a very tsundere, “Oh, fine then, I’ll do it.” But I didn’t want them to get too much closer than they already have at this stage in the story so that’s why he does it for money. Which is kinda… iffy… I suppose. But, eh, whatcha gonna do. You all know fine well how this’ll probably end.

**Author's Note:**

> Although this is the seventh story, I couldn't decide on just one of my two ideas - so I'm writing another one. Hopefully I'll get it finished before the 7th is over but I may be a tad late.


End file.
